


Here

by TheLibrarian (es101wx)



Category: The Young Pope (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/es101wx/pseuds/TheLibrarian
Summary: After Andrew Dussolier's death, sister Mary experiences one of her life's worst moments. And she's alone. Or isn't she?





	1. Chapter 1

The Secretary of State has paced his office for hours, feverlishly thinking of a way to see her. He couldn't figure out entirely how much she was suffering, yet he knew - yes, he  _knew_ \- that the news had left her broken. 

Still, she was in Castel Gandolfo, now. With the Pope. And Castel Gandolfo, without an express invitation, was out of his reach. 

Every time he thought of her - and it was quite often - his heart broke, thinking about the great deal of sufference she was facing at the moment. He didn't ask for anything, save for...He paused. He just wanted for her she could feel she was not alone. Nothing else. He just wanted -  _needed_ \- to be useful. 

He couldn't possibly lie to himself, pretending Belardo would have been able to help her. No. 

_She can't afford all this by herself, Angelo_ , he finally decided.  _She needs_ you _._

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

*thump*

She was positive she would die soon, her lungs on fire and her criying unable to stop.

*thump*

Downstairs, the tennis ball hit by the Pope was keeping up its rhytm. Remotely, she thought he was suffering, too.

*thump*

The old photo of her boys crumpled in her hand, she realised she didn't care. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The pope stared at him, and for a moment Voiello asked himself whether he should have approached him or not.

But how, for goodness sake? Telling him that the Secretary of State was in the pope's residence, without invitation, not on duty but with the only purpose to see the woman he-  _no_ , he scolded himself. He couldn't. 

Then Belardo averted his gaze, just averted his gaze, as his tennis racket pointed absentmindendly towards the door.

 

To follow the unmistakable sound of strangled cries was far too easy, and, at the same time, too heartbreaking. Now that he was in front of her bedroom's door, though, he felt an entirely different sting of pain.

What if she wouldn't want to see him? It'd have been perfectly understandable, he was... Well, for her he was  _no-one_...

Still, he knocked. The voice of her pain was too heavy to bear, and what have been drawing him to her since the very moment he'd heard about Dussolier was, by now, too strong to resist to. So, he knocked.

And he knocked again.

And again.

Softly, gently, he hit the wood panel with his knuckles, politely signalling his presence. 

And finally, when he was ready to give up and discouraged by the lack of reaction, he suddenly decided to try the handle.

The door opened almost by itself.


	3. Chapter 3

Sister Mary was lying prone on the bed, something similar to a photograph cringled in her hand, and she was sobbing, and - that was what made him stop abruptly on the threshold - facing the door. It hasn’t been the polite, somewhat unnoticed arrive he had hoped it would be, definitely not. Quite the contrary, truth to be told. 

And now she was looking at him and for the first time since she had locked herself away from the rest of the people and staff who currently were at the Palace, she didn’t feel embarassed. For the first time since she was able to remember, she was experiencing the unfamiliar sensation of not being judged for displaying her feelings. Her sore, puff eyes looked for Voiello’s, her vision blurring under another wave of tears. 

“You’re here,” she whispered, tired and broken. Without really knowing what ha was doing, the Secretary of State closed the door behind him.   
“I am, sister Mary.”   
“My little boy is dead. My little boy is…” Her voice cracked again, almost dying under the pressure of her sudden sobs.   
Voiello crossed the little room, and not without a hint of trepidation sat slowly on the mattress, genuinely trying to take the less space he could. Sister Mary, though, didn’t object. She just held out her hand towards his, silently begging him to take it, and the cardinal obliged, slowly, covering her hand, and the photo she was wringing in it, with his own.  
“I know.” His thumb moved shyly over hers, tentatively trying to be of some comfort. “I’m sorry.”


	4. Chapter 4

"He was a fine man. A  _good_ man. And he was, because of you." 

Voiello spoke in a murmur, in the first, brief moment she finally had interrupted the flowing stream of her desperate words. She hadn't spoken to anyone since the news of Andrew's death had reached Castelgandolfo. She had closed herself up in her room, refusing to eat, refusing to see any living soul - now her throat was soaring, both for the crying and the long, painful monolog she had since the arrival of the Secretary of State.

"You're kind, Angelo. Even if you usually pretend not to."

Voiello froze on the spot, her hand still encased in his, unable to speak. Did she just call him by name? Sister Mary slowly sat herself up, without interrupting their hands' contact, until she was exactly in front of him - her eyes puffed and red, her smile broken, her cheeks wet from the tears she had shed. Under her scrutinizing gaze, Voiello found himself unable to avoid the subject.

"I'm not kind. I'm just... I'm just a worried friend," he babbled. 

"Friends are not afraid to hug each other when they're in pain," she pointed out. Voiello's hand moved slowly from her fingers to her wrist, gently caressing its way all the time.

"I seem to understand that you're in pain, sister?" he asked, a crooked, tentative smile on his lips. God, how could she be so beautiful despite all she's been through during the last days? 

Sister Mary let him take her hand and massage her wrist, and she almost lost herself in the sensation - then, suddenly, she realized she had just made up her mind.

"Mary. The name's Mary," she smiled. 

It was just a blink - she found herself softly pressed against his chest and encircled by his arms, her head finally surrendering under his chin as her hands made their way to his back.


	5. Chapter 5

Surely they should have made a bizarre picture, there were few doubts about it: Cardinal Voiello registered lazily the thought and pushed it down into the most remote corner of his mind. 

Nothing on earth could have persuaded him to go away - she was finally asleep, and after the living hell she had experimented after Dussolier's death she needed a break so much... Of course, the fact that she was sleeping against his chest was just a pleasant extra. Of course. 

The warmth of her still form was radiating through layers and layers of fabric, both his and hers, for their habits were too much complexed to let him actually  _count_ how many _degrees of separation_ were between their bodies. To be honest, though, he had to admit he didn't care - he was happy that way, holding her, listening to her breath which now was calm and regular, thinking that after all, it was a bit thanks to him if she finally had surrendered to her tiredness. 

And if she had let the sleep take over, obviously it could only mean that she felt sure with him: Voiello kissed lightly her temple, relishing the sensation of their bodies nestled together.


	6. Chapter 6

The door opened without a sound, as the man who was opening it had no desire whatsoever to be noticed. 

The pope didn't enter, just stood still on the doorframe, his hand on the doorknob - he just cast a glance into the room. He shook his head and smiled.

 

***

"Someone was here!" hissed Voiello in reply to the silent question in sister Mary's eyes. 

"What time is it?"

"What?"

"What time is it?" Without letting her go, the Secretary of State raised his left arm, trying to catch a bit of the pale light of the moon outside. 

"Half past midnight."

"It was Lenny, then. He always stops here around this time to see if I'm well, these days."

"My God," howled Voiello. The pope had just seen him sleeping in a woman's bed.  _This_ woman.  _A nun_. And his surrogate mother, no less. " _Sono fottuto_." 

"Does it mean what it seems to mean?" 

"What do you think it means?"

"Something like, uhm,  _I'm screwed_?" 

"Yes. Precisely that. I'm screwed." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, now, his feet heavily on the floor and his back turned to her, his head in this hands. 

Sister Mary drew herself towards him and leant her head against his back. "No, you're not." 

"He'll want my head on a pike."

"Don't be melodramatic, Angelo. It's not as if we were doing something wrong, we were just sleeping..."

"You're as good as his mother. And I'm  _the Secretary of State_! The same  _Secretary of State_ he can't stand - if you know what I mean." 

"I know," she replied. Gripping his shoulder, she forced him to turn. "But we've done nothing wrong, Angelo." 

Voiello stared at her, amazed at how sweet his given name sounded when called by her voice. The silvery light of the moon was slightly brightening the room and - as clichéd as it sounded - she was so damn beautiful in the moonlight. She was so beautiful, at night. 

"I'd better go." 

"No, please. Don't-"

"Mary..." he savoured her name on his lips, desperately looking for a shred of resolution. He had to go, he knew it. But his feet seemed unable to bring him farther than where he was. 

"Why?" asked sister Mary, softly, taking his hand into hers. Voiello was perfectly aware it would be better to talk about the pope, or the fact that surely that afternoon had sealed the end of his own career, or that it would be highly improper for him to be there with her at night. He was aware of a lot of things. Yet, he could tell her not one of those wise words. 

"I'm in real danger, Mary."

"Of what?" she pressed him, mercilessly. 

"Of doing something _extremely wrong_..." Sister Mary blinked, a little, tentative smile creeping on her lips. 

"Such as? Give me an example."

"Such as, I'd probably try and kiss you," he answered without looking at her. 


End file.
